The Gurly Life

Almost back to normal

The last couple of weeks have been extremely busy. I barely got anything done in my writing class last week. But this weekend I managed to get my longer workshop piece done. It's kind of a vomit draft, but at least it's done. Feedback from a dozen writers, at any stage of the process, is tremendous.

Bits and bobs

It is still unclear whether or not I'm getting the flu or if it was a passing malaise. This morning I felt mostly ok, but now I'm a little shaky. Mmmh.

I've been a little absent from the blog in part because I felt icky yesterday, in part because I've been writing a ton of emails for my Brown U. alumni stuff, and in part because I'm working on my next writing assignment. I'm finding that when I write on purpose, I'm very boring. I haven't quite figured out how to unleash my voice. Mostly I've been trying to squeeze a lot of information in a small package, and it's not working at all.

I think tomorrow I will scrap the writing assignment (again!) and start from scratch with a narrower focus so I can say what I want to say how I want to say it.

In other news, today I scared a lieutenant at one of our police departments. Not the same lieutenant I got all gooey over (and by the way, I did some sleuthing and discovered that he is happily married, as I suspected. Urban Koda, I fear your theory is leaking water), and not the same police department, for that matter.

I am not at liberty to divulge the details of this latest scare. Let's just say that I refused to make a certain change to a certain ordinance that I think will make the ordinance completely useless, and I was like, hell NO. So I made him backtrack and take it back up the chain of command, while I do the same on my end. I don't think the lieut was expecting a flat-out no from me. Or how vehemently I was determined to get an ordinance that works.

They all go through this stage where they're scared of me, and eventually they come out the other side. It's all good. Because really, I'm a pussycat.

My new bras

And if you think this is TMI, change the channel. Because the truth of the matter is that not much is going on that is worth boring you with, so I am left to talk about my new bras. So let's talk about them.

In fact, I will begin with my old bras. Lest any of you harbor any delusions that I'm in any way sexy, I will now disabuse you of any such notions.

Forever.

I don't buy new bras until my old ones are discolored, the fabric has worn thin, and they are simply not presentable, not even in the doctor's office. I do not wait until there are holes in them because, well, they are supposed to provide some support. But by the time I dispose of them, they only provide "support."

Thankfully, Willow, tired of having bra straps that always fall off her shoulder (Willow is sexy, even in her wardrobe malfunctions - I mean, really, her bra strap falls over her shoulder? Puh-lease. My wardrobe malfunctions are more like, oh look, there's a hole in the back of your pants and you have an ink stain on your ass, and by the way you're in court. But I digress.) ... where was I? Oh yes, Willow's bra strap. So Willow finally puts her foot down, draws a line in the sand, and says ENOUGH. On behalf of all women everywhere, enough. She then proceeds to some fancy department store to get fitted properly for a bra.

This is where I come in, because Willow shared her precious new-found knowledge about how to find the right size bra. Believe it or not, there is a science to it. Ok, perhaps not exactly a science, more of a method. A method that apparently I never learned, and neither did Willow. Enough women do not know this method that fancy department stores can pay someone to fit women in bras. And for any straight guy reading this, no, you can't get this job. For any man who applies for the job and claims he is gay, the store requires you to have sex with another man right then and there to prove it. For some, it might be worth it. But don't say I didn't warn you.

Following the pearls of wisdom gained from Willow, I purchased new bras. They fit perfectly. They are a bit ... how shall I say ... push-uppy. Not so much that I can rest my chin on my bosom shelf, but while my old bras provided "support," these provide SUPPORT. For a while, therefore, I shall be a little boobier than of late. Unlike haircuts, I imagine my male friends will notice this. Some will say something, others will pretend they didn't notice and not say anything, but their eyes will gravitate to my chesty area a few times before they can move on and pretend nothing happened. And then things will settle back into normal, until the next bra purchase.

Oops

But still doesn't even come close to this (which was my firm's brochure, ready to go out to hundreds of entities, and was stopped in the nick of time).

What I'm doing this weekend

Pretty much: nothing. Yoga in the morning, catching up on a few house things like balancing my checkbook, and then a walk in the evening. Reading, movies, tv. For example, right now I'm "watching" a SyFy movie, Malibu Shark Attack. Yeup. It's as awful as you think. Not as awful as Grease 2, which I watched last night despite it being the worst movie ever made. I believe SyFy later has "Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus" on. Needless to say, I have nothing interesting to write about.

A radical idea

We celebrate marriage, but we do not celebrate divorce. In fact, divorce is a bad thing, something to avoid, or to hide, or to get through as fast as possible, and then to get over. Some people never get over it. Some people end up in battles over money and/or children that consume them, the money, and the children.

I think we should have divorce ceremonies, just like we have wedding ceremonies. Ideally, a couple will be happily married for life, but who are we kidding here? Many couples aren't, and the relationship ends. I would like divorce to be celebrated just like marriage. I would like us as human beings to end relationships powerfully, rather than with anger and upset, and accept that relationships have different lifespans, and sometimes those lifespans are not a lifespan.

I think it would be amazing if we didn't resist the end of relationships, if we didn't experience them as failures that we then drag around like albatrosses for the rest of our lives. The ceremony would celebrate the relationship, and mark a new beginning.

I like it.

What I've been busy with

Work.

Now, on to other matters.

Mysteriously, Missy seems to actually be doing better. She's not really eating any more than she has been, that I can see, but she is moving around more. As I type this she is outside on the landing, taking a little air. She's still very end-of-life but frankly she may hang on for a bit longer than anticipated. Who knows. We just take it one day at a time.

Thankfully, once my monthlies passed the level of anxiety decreased. And then, I had a steak. I don't know what it is, but when my mood is low for any length of time (say, 2 days), I eat a surprisingly large amount of red meat and I'm all better. It's not just the protein, and I'm not sure it's just the iron because other foods are just as rich in it as beef, but something about the two combined lifts my spirits.

This is a good thing because this week was CRAZY busy. Crazy.

And by the way, the return to smoothies and primarily raw food - except for the protein, obvy - worked like a charm. The pain in my back and hip was gone in 2 days.

I'm seriously considering taking a writing class. It's an online writing class offered by Stanford continuing ed. And by Stanford I mean the fancy school in No Cal. The online part makes it easier to attend. It's a little pricey, though, so I'm still working out if I can afford it. And this, by the way, is why I never buy the new furniture I say I should get, because I always find something else I would rather spend money on. But I'm confident that when I grow up, I'll be all homemaker.

Another underwear mystery, solved

I preface this post by telling you that I have more pairs of panties than is strictly necessary. But there are certain things I believe I should not EVER run out of, no matter what. One is toilet paper, for example. I have about 48 rolls of toilet paper around the place at any given time. My place is small, so I have a difficult time finding a place for said toilet paper, but I digress. Panties. Yes.

Yesterday, as I got dressed, I had this thought that I did not have nearly enough panties in my drawer as I am used to. Mmmmh. I was sure I had not gone through 15 pairs of panties since Friday, though recently I've had some experiences that made me think that perhaps I've been blacking out. I'm not aware of blacking out, but of course, that's the nature of blacking out, isn't it? One doesn't really know one has blacked out, otherwise one would not have blacked out. Again, I digress.

As I got home this afternoon I walked past the laundry, and there, on one of the counters, was a pile of my panties. I must have forgotten them in a machine, and some nice neighbor pulled them out and left them on the counter for me.

Once again, all's well that ends well.

It's a new moon

And there is the longest solar eclipse of the century going on right now. Can't see it from here, obvy, as the sun is shining like a crazy overactive orb up there, but you can if you're in Japan or China.

Therefore, two things: good time to start/create something new. To that end, I will complete my match.com profile and jump back in.

The other thing is that if people are acting like lunatics, it might be the moon thing. The LAPD hunkers down whenever they have a "triple threat." This is when it's a Saturday night, around pay time, and there is a full moon. All hell apparently breaks loose.

My parents give the best gifts EVER!

My birthday present from my parents. This was my mom's idea, but my dad is pitching in, too. The sound quality is outstanding. And the speakers are, like, 2" in diameter! Loving playing music again.